


Card-carrying

by GoldenUsagi



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-05
Updated: 2012-04-05
Packaged: 2017-11-03 04:17:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/377104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenUsagi/pseuds/GoldenUsagi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On his birthday, John receives an unusual gift from Mycroft—a licence to kill. Sherlock is disturbingly undisturbed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Card-carrying

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by entangled_now.

John hadn’t expected anything for his birthday.

He knew better to expect something from Sherlock, who had certainly deduced it, but wouldn’t trouble himself with something so mundane. John didn’t think Mrs. Hudson even knew. Harry might or might not ring him, if she remembered the day and hadn’t been drinking.

But it was fine. He was used to his birthday passing without notice.

John definitely didn’t expect the official looking envelope that was delivered by a messenger and had to be signed for. He was still turning it over in his hands when he reached the doorway to the flat.

Sherlock took one look at him from where he was sprawled on the sofa. “Ugh. Mycroft.”

“This is from Mycroft?”

“His idea of a suitable present, I imagine.”

“So you do know it’s my birthday.”

“Obviously,” Sherlock said, sounding bored. “Well, what is it?”

John raised an eyebrow. “Like you don’t know? Go on, then.”

“A special permit for your gun,” Sherlock said, bringing his fingers together.

John opened the envelope. There was a tasteful but expensive looking card from Mycroft. Inside, it said: 

_John, you may find this useful in your association with my brother._  
Best wishes,  
Mycroft Holmes 

There _were_ papers for his gun—impossible as that should have been. There was also a small, black plastic card. The only writing on it was _CAPTAIN JOHN HAMISH WATSON_.

He frowned, turning it over. Mycroft’s signature was at the bottom, and there was a magnetic chip in one corner. That was it; it didn’t say anything else.

Sherlock’s eyes widened in surprise, but then his expression slipped back into indifference. “Congratulations, John. You now have a licence to kill.”

“What? Sorry, a what?”

“A licence. To kill.”

John didn’t even know where to start with that. “What, like in the movies?” he scoffed.

“Hardly. You’ll have to get yours renewed every six months. I suggest being more patient with Mycroft kidnapping you from now on. Don’t want to lose that—could come in useful.”

There was a momentary silence.

Then, “Have I slipped into a parallel universe?” John asked, throwing his hands up. “Things like _this_ , Sherlock—” he waved the card “—do not actually exist in real life. Doesn’t happen!”

“I assure you it does,” Sherlock said. “What do you think joining the Army is? Licence to kill, in a roundabout way. Black ops are the next level up, and that, that’s at the top.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Deadly.”

John took a deep breath. Then he crossed his arms. “I’m not doing anything for Mycroft. I’m not reporting to him, I’m not taking orders from him. If he thinks this will get me to be some sort of _agent_ —”

“Do stop being dramatic. He won’t have any such ideas.”

“Your brother just hands these out like party favours, then?”

“Of course not.” Sherlock narrowed his eyes. “No, this is about me.”

“How could this _possibly_ be about you?”

“Mycroft gives you a gift that can only benefit me. You obviously have no personal use for it, as you have no vendettas, and neither are you the type to go about killing simply because you can. Furthermore, you don’t have anywhere near the proper clearance for a card like that, and you’re not the subordinate of any agency. No, he gave you that in the hopes of making it clear that there will be no repercussions should you happen to kill someone else for me, and also that you shouldn’t hesitate to do so in the future. Really, I do wish he’d stop meddling.”

“You just said it could be useful.”

Sherlock shrugged, still lying down. “It might be. Though that doesn’t change the fact that he did it to keep as much of an eye on me as possible.”

“So I’m your guard dog now,” John said flatly.

Sherlock closed his eyes. “Such a dull way to describe your new classification.”

John looked at the card again. He needed to sit down.

He sat down.

John Watson, licence to kill.

It was mad. The whole thing was mad.

“Problem?” Sherlock asked.

“Does it matter?”

“Not really.” He paused, and then sighed. “It’s not as if you have to _use_ it, John. No one’s putting a gun to your head.” The corner of Sherlock’s mouth turned up.

John burst out laughing. 

That seemed to be his default setting these days when confronted with something insane.

Then he smiled. “You do realise I can legally murder you now?”

“Hardly what my brother intended.” Sherlock stood up. “Dinner?”

John slipped the card into his wallet, and it was done. “Definitely.”


End file.
